Princess Play (6 page)

Maryam agreed. She said casually, ‘You know, I've been thinking it's time Azmi got married too.'

Azmi was her son in the army, currently stationed in the south of Kelantan at Kok Lanas. He'd been living away from home for nearly two years now, and, of course, was a grown man, at least by his own reckoning, if not his parents' reckoning. Maryam considered finding a bride for Azmi before some girl found him – some girl who might not be from Kelantan, or even Malay.

Still, this news came as some surprise to Rubiah. ‘Azmi?' she asked. ‘Have you asked him?'

Maryam was reluctant to admit how much she'd been thinking about it. ‘No, I haven't said anything to anyone yet. Well,' she amended, ‘I just asked Ashikin what she thought and she has a friend …'

‘Who?'

‘Rosnah, a friend from school. From Kedai Buloh. She seems like a nice girl.'

‘You've met her?'

‘You know … she's met Ashikin for lunch at the market.' She looked embarrassed. ‘So naturally, I met her. A sweet girl, I thought.'

‘Does Malek know her?' Maryam's brother Malek lived in Kedai Buloh.

Her reluctance faded. ‘Yes! He thought they were a good family. They have rice land, and they buy fish and process it. Canning and stuff. She works for her parents.'

Rubiah nodded. ‘You'll have all the
budu
you want.'

‘True,' Maryam agreed. ‘Malek's going to find out whether there's been any talk of marriage for her. Then maybe we'll see …' She trailed off, not wanting to sound too enthusiastic yet, lest they find out the girl was already spoken for.

Maryam cleared her throat. ‘Who shall we see tomorrow? Zaiton or Murad?'

Rubiah answered immediately. ‘Murad. Let Aliza find out some more about Zaiton first. Besides, I'm curious to meet this fair but cheap one. He sounds awful.'

‘He probably is.'

Chapter VIII

They took a three-wheeled taxi to Semut Api, anxious to not arrive looking hot and possibly dishevelled; it would never do with someone described as this forbidding. His house was quiet, and Murad himself was ensconced in a chair on the porch.

He was not a large man. He was dark, with pure white hair and beard; his large, beaked nose dominated his narrow face, and his dark eyes were large and hooded. Maryam thought he looked like a hawk – cold and alert, and well capable of violence. He was dressed simply in a cotton sarong and white shirt, with a knitted white cap. He glared down at them from the porch as they approached.

‘Hello,
Abang
,' Maryam greeted him, smiling. She refused to show any of the intimidation she felt upon seeing him. He looked at her silently, without moving.

‘I am Maryam, and this is Rubiah,' she swept her arm toward her cousin. ‘We're here helping the police about this, this … tragedy. I worked with Jamillah, you know, in the market. We all mourn her.'

He made no indication he had heard her, or even noticed her standing at the foot of the stairs. ‘You are
Abang
Murad, aren't you?' she continued, growing exasperated.

He stood up abruptly. ‘What are you doing here,
Kak
? Why have you come to my house?'

She stood her ground. ‘I'm here to help the police investigate
Kak
Jamillah's death.'

‘And why are you asking?'

‘We're helping the police. It's a complicated problem, you see, and we have …'

‘Why are you helping the police?' he continued stubbornly. ‘You aren't policemen. I don't see what you have to do with it.' He looked down at them from the porch.

‘There is too much of this,' he continued, ‘too much of people doing what they want instead of what they should. It's led us here.'

‘
Abang
,' Maryam replied, forcing herself to stay reasonable, ‘you may be right. Yet, we are here already, and these injustices must be made right.'

She liked the sound of that: important, even altruistic. ‘I ask you help us, to find who killed her.'

Murad was silent for a moment, then motioned for them to ascend to the porch. He sat stiffly, offering nothing to eat or drink. His wife peeped out of the door, but he waved her away before she could offer them anything, or even greet them.

‘Now,' Maryam began, but Murad held up a warning finger.

‘Wait!' he commanded. ‘I'll tell you what happened.' He looked down his hawk's nose at them, and narrowed his eyes.

‘It's people wanting to get things for nothing that began this. You think it's alright,' he accused Maryam, though she'd said nothing, and indeed, had not changed expression.

‘Well, life doesn't work that way. You have to work for what you get, and work hard. People don't appreciate that, they don't think about it, but they should. They want money handed to them, so they're ready to steal, and, yes, even kill to get what they want. One person like that can poison and corrupt all the other people around. I know it seems harsh. But it's true.'

Maryam, at first confused, decided it was Aziz he was attacking here.

‘I think,' he continued, leaning closer to the women, ‘someone like that killed Jamillah. That's the kind of person you should look for. Not here.'

‘Yes, exactly!' Maryam enthusiastically agreed. ‘And that's why we're here, to ask you about
Abang
Aziz. You know him, and perhaps you can tell us –'

Murad looked witheringly at her, then stood up. ‘He's just what I was talking about. Money for nothing. Lazy, complaining. I heard him after I sold my boat; he accused me of cheating him.' He looked contemptuous. ‘I don't cheat people. I'm fair.'

Maryam thought that if you were fair, it was hardly necessary to proclaim it. After all, if you had to point it out to people, how fair were you?

‘I've known him for a long time. We grew up together. He was always like that.'

Rubiah asked bluntly, ‘Were you thinking of your son marrying his daughter? I heard it was being discussed.'

He was surprised. ‘Where did you hear that? It won't happen.'

Rubiah probed. ‘Did you want it to happen?'

‘I won't discuss personal things here. My son needs a good strong wife, and we will find one. Aziz's family is not for us.'

How had this become common talk
? he wondered. This was Hamidah's doing – his wife and her plans. He knew Aziz would never agree to a wedding between their children, and he wasn't sure he was all that pleased with it himself. He wanted another kind of bride for his son, perhaps the daughter of his sister, Noriah. She would be well brought up, he could be sure of that, but Aziz? Who knew how his daughter would be? Hamidah claimed it would heal the rift between their families, but Murad didn't care if that rift remained. Had she been gossiping?

Maryam looked longingly towards the door of the house. What might she find out from the wife? If only she would come out. But, as she suspected, Murad's wife was too well trained to show her face now, poor soul. Imagine being married to someone like him!

‘Don't concern yourself with marriages,' he ordered them. ‘You let the police do their job. They won't have to look too long.'

With that, the two visitors were brusquely dismissed. He turned on his heel and went into his house, leaving Maryam and Rubiah staring after him.

Murad walked purposefully to the back of the house, staring down the steps to the kitchen. He hated chattering women prying into his life. He preferred a simple life, uncluttered by people underfoot. Murad could not say he enjoyed the company of women; he was contemptuous of them, and never more so than when watching them work. He avoided the market, where they dominated; just watching them talk and laugh and tease each other and their customers threatened to make him physically ill.

Like these two market women with pretensions of helping the police. He had a good mind to go to Kota Bharu and tell the police chief just what they were up to; no doubt he'd be shocked. Yes, and furious too. He'd like to be there in the room when they were called off their charade of detecting. Perhaps tomorrow …

In this, he was very different from his wife Hamidah, who enjoyed the company of others. She privately thought he carried a damp fog about him, sucking the fun out of life with his unblinking stares and the way he tightened his lips in disapproval.

Many Kelantanese women, faced with such a bleak husband, would have left long ago and found someone more congenial, both to themselves and their children. But Hamidah and her parents had considered Murad an advantageous match: his family had a good deal of Arab blood (quite prestigious), and he certainly took his responsibility to make a living far more seriously than just about any other man in Kelantan.

Then too, given his fierce condemnation of drinking and gambling, she believed it unlikely he would indulge in the third leg of common vice – women – and that made a nice change from the worries of many of her other friends. And even if Murad wasn't much fun, and forced the family to tiptoe around him for fear of igniting his righteous wrath … well, he had been away most of the time.

That was then. It was difficult now for her to escape from her dour husband, especially since he had sold his boat and was at home more often. Hamidah had started considering escape. But she'd have to do it carefully,
seperti lotong meniti dahan kayu:
like a monkey making its way across a bough. And like that monkey, one wrong move could find her tumbling to her death.

Chapter IX

OK, so …' Aliza began, filling her mother in on the teenage news of Kampong Penambang. It was a whole other world.

‘His name is Rahim, and he's a fisherman. And his parents have already been to see Zaiton's parents. Her father is considering it, and said he likes him and he works hard.' Maryam thought the same.

‘
But
,' she paused for effect, ‘her mother didn't like him, and thought Zaiton should marry someone with more money.'

Maryam said mildly that Jamillah may have only wanted what she thought was best for her daughter.

‘And Rahim was there for the ceremony, but he left before it ended. He had to get to work the next day and go all the way back to Semut Api.'

Aliza then wrapped up: ‘Zaiton says she thinks she'll marry Rahim when things get back to normal. She thinks her father will accept it.'

‘Well! That was great. I'm so proud of you. And grateful for your help.'

Aliza glowed. ‘I can help some more,' she said with enthusiasm.

‘Not now,' Maryam said, a bit more sternly than she'd meant to. ‘Don't get involved in this on your own, Aliza. It can turn dangerous.'

*  *  *

Aziz stood uncertainly in the middle of the yard, surrounded by honking, snapping geese. Mamat had got them during Maryam's last case, when he felt the need to ensure no one came close to the house without being announced. The geese were perfect: they honked loudly, they hissed and they snapped, especially at people they didn't know, although they were capable of making anyone's life miserable, stranger or friend. Aziz had his own geese, and was no neophyte when it came to avoiding being bitten. He protected himself without riling the birds and waited where he was until rescue arrived.

Mamat clattered down the steps, waving the geese away and greeting Aziz. ‘It's so nice to see you. Please, come up. Yam! We have a visitor,' he cried, and Maryam soon appeared at the door.

‘
Abang
Aziz! How nice to see you. Are you alright? One moment, I just have to get something.' She disappeared into the kitchen and the welcome sounds of rattling dishes signified that coffee was on its way. Aziz seemed pleasantly impatient to receive coffee and snacks, and Mamat wondered whether he'd been eating regularly with Jamillah gone.

‘Have you spoken to him?' he demanded of Maryam while she still poured coffee.

‘Do you mean Murad?' He nodded, and picked a cake to accompany his coffee. Mamat leaned forward proffering his box of cigarettes, which Aziz accepted gratefully. Thus prepared, the conversation could continue.

‘We saw him,' Maryam said carefully. ‘I don't know that it was … “conclusive” in any way.'

‘He hates me.'

‘He doesn't seem to like anyone very much.'

‘Yes, but me especially. You can see how he would have hurt Jamillah.
Punggong dipukul gigi habis tanggal:
kick the rear end and the teeth fall out. He'd hurt Jamillah to get at me.'

Maryam sat down and lit a cigarette taken from Mamat's box. ‘What's this I hear about a wedding for Zaiton?'

Aziz stiffened. ‘I'm not even thinking of that right now.'

‘But there's been someone interested?'

‘A boy from Semut Api,' Aziz told her grudgingly.

‘Do you like him?'

Aziz took an exasperated breath. ‘Why are we talking about this?'

‘It could have some bearing. What about Murad's son?'

Aziz's face and neck became bright red. ‘I don't know what you've heard,' he said between clenched teeth, ‘but that is completely wrong. I would never agree to have my daughter marry into that family. Never!'

‘Does this other boy have hopes?'

Aziz ran his hand over his face. ‘You know,' he sighed, ‘I haven't been thinking about it much. But why not? He's a nice boy, a hard worker, a nice family. And Zaiton likes him. A lot of parents don't want to take that into account, but I want her to be happy.' He looked hard at Maryam.

‘You're absolutely right!' she said warmly. ‘I'm so glad to hear you say that!' She beamed at him. He'd just risen infinitely in her estimation. She would never have imagined him saying something so thoughtful, and at that moment she decided she really didn't want it to be Aziz who killed Jamillah. There would have to be someone else.

‘So,' she began, leaning forward towards him, ‘who do you think wanted Murad's son to marry her? Not you or Jamillah, right?'