Spirit Play

by Barbara Ismail

  Maryam came out of the house already bearing a tray of coffee, followed by Aliza bearing a platter of cookies. Both Maryam and Aliza wore tight, concealing headscarves tied firmly around their heads to ensure there would be no slippage, making them look far more strictly religious than they actually were. Osman was shocked at how thin and pale both Maryam and Aliza looked. Maryam looked fatigued, and Aliza looked like a little girl again, not like the young woman she was rapidly becoming.

  ‘I’m so glad to meet you,’ Maryam said happily, reaching out both hands in a polite greeting. Aliza smiled and bent over her hand, then shyly retreated behind her mother, peeking out to evaluate Azrina. ‘We’ve thought about you, wondering about the wedding,’ Maryam told them.

  ‘The songket was beautiful,’ Azrina said, wanting it to be the first thing said lest it get lost in general conversation. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it; everyone said so.’ She smiled at Maryam. ‘Thank you!’

  Maryam blushed with pleasure. ‘Oh, it was nothing. After all, this is where we make songket, so I thought Chik Osman should come back with some really excellent cloth.’

  ‘I don’t think we can even buy cloth like that in Perak,’ Azrina continued. ‘That kind of quality…’

  ‘That kind of cloth isn’t usually sold elsewhere, just here,’ Maryam said proudly, vaguely waving an arm to encompass the village of Penambang. ‘It’s woven right here.’

  ‘Alamak! ’ Azrina bubbled. ‘That’s so exciting. I’m in the center…’

  ‘Of the world of songket,’ Maryam finished for her. She turned to Aliza and asked her to get Rubiah. With a shy smile, Aliza hopped down the stairs and trotted off. The geese were silent, continuing to monitor the guests rather than bother Aliza, who had been known to kick them.

  ‘Are you fixing up your quarters?’ Maryam asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Azrina answered confidently. ‘It was so plain! You know how things look when men live alone! Hardly any furniture, hardly any food. It looks like a prison.’

  Maryam nodded, and Mamat put a consoling hand on Osman’s shoulder and offered him a cigarette. He refused, as did Azrina, but Maryam took one gladly, and relaxed noticeably. ‘I hope you’ll like it here. I’m sure your being here will make Chik Osman like it more.’

  Azrina giggled for a moment and nodded. Maryam thought she saw a flash of something more than a polite and shy new wife. Some strength, and a great deal of intelligence. Osman was lucky.

  ‘How are you feeling, Mak Chik?’ Maryam heard Osman saying and brought herself back to the conversation.

  ‘Oh, a little better.’ She wasn’t sure if that was true, but it was the best answer she could give.

  ‘Has the ceremony already…?’

  ‘No, in two days.’ She sighed. ‘I really hope it works.’

  ‘Of course, it will,’ Mamat insisted stoutly. ‘You’re going to feel like yourself again when it’s over.’

  ‘The ceremony?’ Azrina interjected.

  ‘A curing ceremony,’ Osman explained. ‘A main puteri.’

  Azrina nodded but didn’t really know what that was. They were rarely, if ever, performed in Perak.

  ‘Should I be there, Mak Chik?’

  Maryam wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘I guess so,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘Well, not if it’s private.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Mamat. ‘You should come. You never know what might come out.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Maryam was suddenly frightened. ‘What would come out?’

  ‘Nothing should,’ he soothed her. ‘It’s just a figure of speech.’

  Maryam didn’t believe him but wasn’t going to argue in front of Osman’s new wife. So she smiled instead, and gestured towards the cakes, urging them to eat. ‘Ah, here’s Mak Chik Rubiah,’ she announced, watching her cross the yard with Aliza. ‘She can explain all about the cakes. She made them all!’

  Maryam wasn’t sure whether she hoped she would fall into trance at the main puteri, to get the most out of the experience, or hoped she would not, to avoid making a fool of herself. She feared it would be impossible to do both, and she dreaded an inconclusive and ineffectual ceremony leaving her in the same pain and unhappiness she now felt. But she also feared a rousing success which would have her friends and family talking forever about how hilarious she was, thinking she was a princess at her age. Either way, she would lose.

  She prepared her house for the ceremony, sweeping and resweeping the yard until it was a clean and smooth surface on which Pak Nik Lah (or maybe both of them) could dance. She shuddered. Please don’t let me embarrass myself, she prayed.

  The evening of the ceremony arrived. Pak Nik Lah and his musicians were setting up in the yard, while neighborhood children crouched just outside the hard ground. Pak Nik Lah was dressed in a plain sarong, tied up into the waist so that modesty would not be offended no matter how he moved.

  Another sarong was rolled lengthwise and tied around the middle of his chest to provide a handle for his helper should he need to get him under control while he was in trance. The helper would question him while in trance, speaking to the spirits through Pak Nik Lah, and keep the audience entertained with comedy before serious action got underway.

  The bomoh was burning incense in a small brazier, sitting quietly before it, murmuring prayers and incantations to ready both himself and the place.

  Small bowls of popped rice, flowers, water and coins were arranged around it and were thrown around the yard as offerings for the spirits to come. Coffee, cigarettes and snacks were put out for the troupe. They would be playing most of the night, and neighbors would continuously replenish their supplies in order keep up their strength.

  Maryam, watching from a window, felt the preliminaries were going on forever, though the process was actually going much more quickly than she imagined. At last, Pak Nik Lah bent over the incense and cupped the smoke in his hands, then rubbing them up and down on his face. His incantations became slightly louder, and he rocked back and forth as he chanted. He was beginning his trance.

  Maryam and her family sat along the edge of the area where the dancing would take place. Everyone tried to sit as close to her as possible, to hold her hand or arm, to show their support and devotion. Mamat sat to one side, urging her to relax and lean back against him, while Malek sat on the other side, holding Aliza in front of him while Malek’s wife held her hand.

  All Maryam’s friends from the village, and some from the market, were there, as were all her family and in-laws. Osman and Azrina were sitting farther away, among the neighbors. Osman watched anxiously, constantly looking around to see if anyone looked suspicious.

  At this point in the ceremony, the crowd was light-hearted and eager. Nothing threatening, or frightening, had been unleashed, and most of the comedy routines were now being enacted. A few entrepreneurs set up small rickety stalls on the dirt path near the house, where coffee was being served, cigarettes shared, and bags of snacks sold out of large plastic buckets. It was a party.

  People stopped to say hello to Maryam and Aliza, wish them luck, express their support. Unlike some main puteri, where the patients were ill, near to unconscious even, Maryam and Aliza, though thinner and paler than usual, were alert and even excited. In fact, they presided as hostesses at a celebration. They were, therefore, much more fun to talk to.

  The music started, still soft and led by the rebab, a fiddle-like instrument, backed up with drums and gongs. The tunes, droning and repetitive, were trance-inducing on their own. Pak Nik Lah sat facing his helper and interlocutor, his eyes closed, introducing himself as a variety of spirits which then engaged in repartee. The festive air continued, the jokes were funny and based upon Penambang village gossip (of which Pak Nik Lah had gotten an earful) and Maryam found her anxiety abating as time passed and no ridiculous antics were required of her.

  Imperceptibly now, the atmosphere started to change. The music began to speed up, and the comedy was no longer as uproarious. Pak Nik Lah to
ok longer to answer than he had before, and the questions put to him became more serious. The incense now seemed thicker to Maryam, and Aliza’s eyes had trouble staying open.

  Pak Nik Lah now rose from sitting to adopt a dancer’s pose: down on one knee, his hands curled back and held in front of him.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded the helper, and when Pak Nik Lah remained silent, the question was repeated more loudly. Suddenly, Pak Nik Lah was on his feet, dancing with a martial attitude, announcing his name as a spirit who had been spurned, ignored, and therefore had invaded Maryam in order to get the attention he deserved.

  He danced around the yard, then danced for a long time in front of Maryam, who began to feel light-headed and sleepy. She watched the bomoh, and then her eyes closed and she was no longer conscious.

  The helper kept pressing Pak Nik Lah, demanding the spirit tell them what he wanted, and what would make him leave Maryam and Aliza alone, allowing them to return to the health and energy they’d enjoyed before they were afflicted. There was only silence, and the audience leaned in closer, to hear what this troublesome spirit might demand: scarves or prayers or offerings.

  With a sudden roar, Pak Nik Lah leaped back, higher than a man his size had any right to leap, and spoke furiously to his helper. He was the familiar, he announced, kept in a bottle (as most were) on a ship, on the sea. A collective gasp arose from the crowd. This was Murad’s spirit, surely!

  He needed feeding, he needed attention, he needed offerings. He’d worked hard for his human owners, and they had not given him what he deserved. (Now Pak Nik Lah’s face was fearsome, and some of the smaller children watching began to cry as they scrambled towards their parents’ laps.) He would desert them! Let them see how they fared without his help.

  Mamat and Malek exchanged nervous looks. This looked more serious than they had expected. Malek was thankful Aliza was asleep, or entranced, so she wouldn’t receive a further shock. Yi was frightened, but fascinated too, and sat behind his father looking over his shoulder, ready to duck if Pak Nik Lah so much as looked his way.

  There were frissons of fear running through the crowd. No one expected a spirit they actually recognized. It was too close to home, though the owner’s name was never mentioned.

  Maryam suddenly rose in one swift motion and assumed a warrior’s pose. Mamat sat with open mouth; where had she learned that? She spoke in a loud, clear voice ordering the spirit to leave her. She danced silat, a martial arts dance, with Pak Nik Lah, lunging and dancing back, charging, but never being touched.

  She spun on one foot, ending in a high kick which missed the bomoh by millimeters. And behind her now, close, a faithful retainer, was Aliza, dancing like a sprite: so light, so graceful she hardly seemed human.

  The familiar fell back, crying for mercy, for Maryam to just do him the favor of some offerings—some flowers, a few coins. He promised to leave them, to leave, in fact, his life of bad deeds and service of selfishness if Maryam would but grant him that.

  As gracious in victory as she was fearless in battle, she agreed. She danced once around the circle, followed always by Aliza, who seemed to be floating on the air itself and then sat in front of Mamat before falling back, boneless. Malek caught Aliza in mid-fall, and gathered her up into his arms, inexplicably finding himself in tears.

  Everyone agreed it was the best main puteri they had ever seen.

  Chapter 22

  THE FAMILY GATHERED BACK at the house. Pak Nik Lah came by to see how his patients were doing—they were both sound asleep. ‘That’s as it should be,’ he said approvingly. ‘That means it’s working.’

  Pak Nik Lah himself looked as though he could use some sleep. ‘It’s tiring,’ he admitted, ‘but if it works, then it’s all worth it.’

  Rubiah served him coffee and pressed large platters of cakes on his troupe, now packing up outside. They took their time getting their things together, pausing to eat, drink and smoke, speaking softly so as not to disturb those around them who might be trying to sleep.

  Maryam and Aliza were put to sleep together in the children’s bedroom, and Mamat turned off the lights and lay down in his own bed, watching the window. It had been an amazing ceremony. He’d seen plenty of main puteri in his time, but this was the first time his own immediate family had been involved, and it was an emotional upheaval.

  He never expected to be as moved as he was, watching Maryam and Aliza entranced: so brave, so lovely, so graceful. He’d been near to or in tears since Maryam first stood up. He thought he understood now why it was so often successful—the intensity of the trance, the immediacy of the spirits. Until then, Mamat wasn’t even sure he really believed in spirits, and didn’t expect to. But this ceremony had wrenched him out of his everyday existence and onto another plane.

  In addition, the anxiety of hoping for a cure, all these things seemed to change the world he lived in. He’d expected a play, to be entertained, maybe be a little frightened. He hadn’t expected to feel transported. But now he felt like a different person.

  He thought he would fall into sleep immediately, but his mind wouldn’t stop racing, so he lay there—alert, awake, considering the nature of the world and of spirits. He heard the noises of the village at night: the rustle of the doves in their cages on the porch, the settling of the geese in their baskets in the back, crickets and frogs.

  It was soothing, after the noise and the crowd of the ceremony. The aftermath seemed so calm, so dark. A slight breeze rustled the palm fronds not far from the house; he could hear Yi turn in his sleep. And then…

  He wasn’t sure he actually heard anything; had he imagined it? The softest possible footfall. He looked out the window, making no noise, but no shadows moved. He listened again, but the quiet was unbroken.

  He was unable to relax now and told himself his imagination would not slow down. He eased himself up so he was sitting up in bed, leaning his back against the wall. He didn’t want to get too close to the window, lest he be seen. His ears seemed preternaturally alert now, as though he could identify each individual cricket if he wanted to.

  He thought he heard it again and froze in place. Now the shadows seemed to move; was it the breeze moving the trees? He held his breath, and hoped Malek was awake as well, guarding Maryam and Aliza as they had agreed.

  He didn’t move his eyes from the window. It seemed an eternity in which nothing moved, no new noises presented themselves. And then, when he had almost convinced himself it was an overactive imagination, he saw a hand slowly come up onto the sill and stay there. And then the other hand. Mamat dared not even breathe. The fingers tightened on the sill, and a head and shoulders appeared, just leaning into the room.

  Mamat propelled himself forward and grabbed the head, pulling the body into the room, roaring with rage, calling out to Malek and Daud and Osman, waiting silently in the living room, just inside the door. All the men crashed into the room, there was confused shouting. And then the lights turned on.

  Kamal was splayed out on a bed, pinned down by Mamat at his head and Daud at his feet, and Osman already handcuffing him to the bed. All of them were breathing heavily, red in the face, and very angry.

  ‘Well,’ Osman demanded. ‘Explain what you’re doing here.’

  Kamal looked around wildly but said nothing. The veins in his neck pulsing, Osman pulled his arm roughly and demanded once more, ‘Talk to me! What do you think you’re doing?’

  Yi’s voice came to them from under the window. ‘Dad! Look at this!’

  Four of them leaned out to see Yi holding up a tall but thin wooden box placed under the window. ‘He must have been standing on this,’ said Yi proudly.

  ‘Great work!’ Osman smiled. ‘He’s a smart kid,’ he said to Mamat as he turned to go out and gather his evidence.

  ‘He gets it from his mother,’ Mamat replied, taking a cigarette from the pack Daud passed around. They all relaxed now, congratulating each other while shooting dirty looks at Kamal, who sat morosely next to the bed rattling
his handcuffs. Malek kicked his foot out of the way, looked at him insolently and muttered ‘sorry’ in the most unapologetic way possible.

  Kamal appeared to be in for a very long night. Minutes later, they heard the sound of a police car arriving in Penambang. Osman came noisily up the stairs.

  ‘Look what I found!’ he announced, pushing a disheveled Hamidah into the room in front of him. ‘She was hiding in the bushes,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Can you imagine? A woman her age?’

  Her hair was matted in disarray, her face smudged with dirt, her hands filthy and her sarong black at the knees. And she was smiling—a horrible, lopsided smile which made her look like a ghoul.

  Rubiah and her husband Dollah were over soon after, as dawn began to break and the first call to prayer broke the sleeping silence. She brought a full breakfast for everyone, and began making coffee and reheating the mound of curry puffs she’d brought as well, should anyone appear to be faint. The night’s heroics made everyone hungry and elated, and when Maryam and Aliza woke and emerged, they were greeted with congratulations and cheers. Both were smiling broadly.

  ‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’ asked Mamat.

  She beamed at him. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it. I didn’t think it would happen. I feel so much better! Like another person!’ She looked at Aliza, who smiled back, more shyly than her mother.

  ‘I think I’m better,’ she said, running her hand over the stubble on her head. ‘And I think my hair is longer.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ Yi assured her. ‘I can definitely see it.’