Spirit Tiger (16 page)

‘Where?' Rubiah asked, with some trepidation.

‘In the same place as Ruslan died, up near Pengkalan Kubur. And,' she added, knowing Rubiah was thinking the same thing, ‘it wasn't me.'

‘Of course not!' Osman was scandalized, but Rubiah only nodded, listening for the rest of the story.

‘Tell her,' Maryam urged Osman.

‘They found his body at the same part of the road between Tumpat and Pengkalan Kubur,' he began, ‘and it was the same thing, the throat torn out and the blood all gone. But this time, the body hadn't been dragged to the forest in the back – it was left right next to the road so anyone passing would see it. He was all crumpled up, looking frightened. The police from Tumpat were there again, and I could see they thought it was a
hala
.'

‘That doesn't make it true,' Maryam interjected.

‘I know,' Osman agreed glumly. ‘But they still looked at me like it was my fault for not believing them in the first place. The Tumpat Police Chief said maybe I didn't really understand Kelantan.'

‘Ah, so that's what you're so upset about.'

‘No,' he whined. ‘It's just that I feel like …'

‘This has nothing to do with knowing Kelantan,' Rubiah said briskly. ‘Don't let these people push you around.' If anyone was going to push Osman around, it was the two women in front of him now, and they had no intentions of allowing anyone else to invade their territory.

‘They think you'll be
mabok tahi telinga
, dazed by talk in your ear, and then you'll listen to them. But you're the chief here, not someone from Tumpat! Though I don't have anything against them,' she cautioned, ‘I don't like them treating you like this.'

‘It isn't that …'

‘What is it then?' Maryam looked up from the cake assortment she was studying with new-found enthusiasm. Her mood lifted higher every moment, and with it, her appetite.

‘I think I didn't take them seriously enough when we found Ruslan. I ignored them talking about a
hala
, I didn't want to hear it.'

‘And you were right,' Maryam congratulated him. ‘Otherwise you'd be off pursuing some nonsense. That was good thinking.'

‘Was it? I don't know.'

‘Stop it. You were right, this is a person – not a tiger, not a
hala
.' With that, Maryam announced to the world she was back.

‘And we must find him before he kills again.'

Chapter XXIII

She was walking stealthily through the
kampong
: silently, gracefully, menacing. She heard everything, even the faintest sounds: mice scrabbling under the ground, the river moving towards the ocean, even the faint snoring of people asleep in their houses. The variety of smells and their intensity almost overwhelmed her: she'd never experienced smells so viscerally before. Her night vision was extraordinary. Nothing, no one, could escape her should she choose to pursue it as prey. She was the smartest, most powerful being in the village, and the most alive.

She walked close to the ground, with her immensely powerful shoulders down, her whole body nothing but muscle. Strong as she was, she had exquisite control over every inch of her, and it would be nearly impossible for her to make a clumsy move, or even an uncontrolled one. She was immeasurably steadier on her four feet, with large paws which gripped the earth, and able to jump higher and faster than any other animal. She was a tiger, and all her senses, all her perceptions, were unbearably sharp.

She walked down the path admiring the
kampong
as she had never seen it before. The moon was so bright it seemed like daylight, and her own legs looked so deep a colour of orange, it might well have been part of a different spectrum. The life of a tiger: a heightened, heady existence, so much more real than that of a human being. She could hardly remember what human senses were like, but knew they were of a lower order of magnitude than those she now used, as though she had lived her human life smothered under a blanket, unable to really see, hear or smell. And movement! When as a human had she ever moved with such authority, such swagger, such beauty? She did not believe she could ever revert to her old existence, she would have to follow her new self, her enhanced self – her tiger self.

She awoke with a start, staring uncomprehendingly at the darkened porch on which she sat. She looked at herself, bewildered: she was a person, a
Mak Cik
in an everyday batik sarong and long blouse, leaning against a house post, cigarette burning in a makeshift ashtray. There was nothing tigerish about her, nor – suddenly – were her senses in anyway quicker than they had been. She smoothened back her hair, which needed no adjustment, and picked up her half-smoked cigarette, examining it, unable to credit that her experience had only been as long as it would take to burn halfway down. But she'd been that tiger! She'd felt, she'd known, what it was like to own the night as she patrolled the footpaths.

It was time to call Pak Lah in earnest.

Pak Lah was troubled. He was reluctant to undertake just this kind of action he now believed was the only road opened to him and had spent most of his professional life avoiding. He shook his head sadly.

‘
Adik
,' he said to Maryam, who sat numbly in front of him, ‘I think there's only one thing to do, and that's send back the
jampi
to the person who sent it to you. I don't like doing it. To me, it's too much like black magic. But in this situation, I can't think of anything else to do. It's clearly a spell, a curse. You're dreaming of your tiger self, but you aren't one.'

‘She's right here on the porch!' Rubiah interrupted. ‘She didn't go anywhere! That's how I knew …'

‘And you're right,' Pak Lah assured her, ‘she's under a curse. I can see that now, I'm sure of it. Before I thought maybe you'd chosen it, that you were really turning into a
hala
, but now I think differently.'

‘You're sure?' Maryam asked, beseeching him to reassure her.

He nodded. ‘I am. Now we know what we're fighting. And I will fight it,' he averred, metaphorically rolling up his sleeves. ‘I want you to stay here for a few days, to keep up your strength. But I also want you to take heart, because you aren't a were-tiger.'

Pak Lah rose, still frowning slightly. ‘We'll start tonight,' he announced. ‘I'll tell your family.'

Puteh could no longer keep herself away from Khatijah. She had wanted to see her before, but was reluctant to face her, believing it had to be Khatijah's fault Suleiman divorced her, since he was too weak and … well, passive, to do it himself. She'd heard Khatijah had returned to her parents' home in Kampong Tikat and, leaving her two eldest to care for the five youngest, Puteh set out on foot for the village at the bend in the road.

It was hot, walking during the day, and by the time Puteh found the house, she already looked exhausted: the hair around her face was wet, her feet were dusty and her cheeks were red. Khatijah took one look at her from the porch of her house and urgently called her up onto the porch and blessed shade.

‘
Alamak
,
Cik
Puteh, look at you! You must be exhausted, walking so far in this heat!' She bustled around her, setting a pillow in front of the wall, grabbing a paper fan and calling a young cousin over to buy some cold drinks and cakes at the stall on the road.

She looked at Puteh with concern. Her cousin brought out a small towel soaked in cold water so Puteh could freshen up, and offered a large bottle of Green Spot orange soda as cold as the stall could get it. Puteh was inordinately grateful for the attention.

‘I knew it was you,' Khatijah told her, fussing around the porch, ‘and I'm very happy you're here, of course. But why come during the day?'

No one had fussed this much about Puteh in recent memory, and she enjoyed it. A small girl toddled on to the porch and grabbed Khatijah's sarong.

‘
Intan!
' Khatijah scooped her up and nuzzled her face. ‘Siti Hawa,' she said proudly to Puteh, ‘my daughter.'

Puteh made all the right noises of congratulation and admiration, but really, she had seven kids at home and how enthusiastic could she really be about one more? She recognized how entranced Khatijah was with her daughter, and maybe she'd also been that way about her first, but she couldn't remember anymore. Khatijah had very graciously got her out of the sun and deserved at least that much from her. They smiled at each other and Khatijah sat down with Siti Hawa on her lap.

Khatijah began. ‘I'm very glad to see you,
Cik
Puteh, as I wanted to apologize to you. I was wrong to marry your husband, I know it, and maybe I even knew it then. We weren't married for very long, but it must have made you very unhappy, and I'm sorry. I hope you will forgive me.' Khatijah leaned back with a serious face and watched Puteh, who struggled with an appropriate reaction.

What could she say? She didn't want to forgive her: she had come to berate her, maybe even drive her to tears. But Khatijah had been so decent to her, caring for her even for the few moments when she arrived, and then apologizing. It completely took the wind out of her ire, yet she would hate to leave having said nothing except ‘never mind'.

‘
Cik
Khatijah,' she began slowly, keeping her eyes off Khatijah's face, ‘I came here to scold you, and you have been so nice to me it's hard for me to do so. But I feel I must, even so.'

She took a deep breath. It had never been natural for Puteh to stand up for herself, and it wasn't getting any easier.

‘You knew what Suleiman was. He's weak, and you can lead him around very easily. He doesn't think for himself much. He never did. That's his fault, I know. But you knew he had a wife and lots of kids, and if you had not suggested marriage, or didn't look like you wanted it, he'd never have the energy to do anything like that. And because I know him and the way he is, I'm blaming you for what happened, because only you could have started it.'

She leaned back against the wall and finally lifted her eyes to Khatijah's face. Khatijah blanched, and continued to lose colour in her face. Her voice, when she answered, was rougher than it had been, though still well under control.

‘I agree with you,
Cik
Puteh,' she began. ‘I know that is something Suleiman would never would have done on his own. Well, you can't get married on your own anyway, but that isn't what I mean. I agree: he's weak and he's passive, and it was my fault we got married because if I hadn't moved things forward, he'd still be sitting at a bar mooning after me like a buffalo calf. So you're right, there.

‘But
Cik
Puteh, it can't be all my fault. I mean, another woman might see him staring at her and then talk to him, and if she wants to get married, you know he'll do it all over again. But I realized right away that this wouldn't work, so I told him to go back to his family. What will you do if someone else doesn't tell him that, if they hang on to him. Then what?'

They were both quiet for a moment, then Khatijah continued with escalating fervour. ‘Will you blame everyone else, or finally blame Suleiman for being weak? He is the father of your children, but I was the one who told him to go back to them. You can't always depend on other women to watch out for your interests with your husband. So, I would say you must control him if you can, and I really think you should. It's very … dangerous, otherwise.'

She leaned back against the wall of the house, her own cheeks now very pink and her eyes narrowed. Siti Hawa didn't know anything of what was transpiring in front of her, but felt instinctively that things were awry and began crying. Her mother made comforting noises and stroked her head. She said nothing to Puteh, but shot her a look that clearly said that this was indeed her fault, and she should be sorry for it.

Puteh sighed loudly. Here she had come to berate Khatijah, and now she was feeling guilty for making the child cry. Why was everything her fault? But in her heart, she knew where the real culprit hid, and that was the useless Suleiman, who created misery around him wherever he went. She tried one more time. ‘Why are we two arguing,
Cik
Khatijah, when it's really Suleiman's fault? Yet he sits happily at home at we glare daggers at each other.'

Khatijah said nothing, but watched her with compassion over her daughter's head. Puteh was stuck, that much she knew; with seven kids and no money, where could she go? Khatijah thanked heaven she didn't need Suleiman – indeed, didn't need any man, including Yusuf, so as to be a hostage to what they wanted.

She tried to think of a way to free Puteh from the trap her marriage had become, but every thought she had on this subject seemed to end in a wall, and she could think of nothing helpful. It was disappointing, for Khatijah prided herself on her ability to see her way out of situations other people might take for hopeless. But in Puteh's case, there might really be no way out.

In Kota Bharu itself, around the same time, Munira decided it was time to leave her house and the life she lived and escape. She planned to flee to her sister's house in Pasir Puteh, down the coast towards Trengganu, and never return to Kota Bharu and the hand-to-mouth existence she'd led since getting married to Ruslan. They'd both seen his end approaching, and neither could think of any way to avoid it. She hadn't imagined such a painful and bloody death for him, true, but she knew his life was drawing to a close and he had essentially nothing to show for having lived.

Munira could no longer clearly remember how it all went bad so quickly. Thinking of it for no more than a minute at a time, for that was all she could take, she supposed that once Ruslan began gambling, everything began tumbling into that large hole. She remembered herself as a young girl, and quite dispassionately thought of the dreams she'd had for home and children. And certainly Ruslan's family had seen solid enough, with his brother Yunus a paragon of responsibility. Shortly after she was married, however, it became clear that Ruslan was a very different species than his brother, and took no responsibility for anything.