Princess Play

by Barbara Ismail

  ‘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?’

  He shrugged. ‘Me, definitely not. Jamillah, bless her, I don’t think so. To be frank, she wanted someone with some money for Zaiton, or at least more money than this boy Rahim has, but saying that doesn’t necessarily mean she wanted Kamal. Murad?
Never. So, that would leave Hamidah, his wife. I never hear her talk anymore, so I don’t know.’

  ‘Anymore?’

  ‘We grew up together, you know; all of us, in Semut Api. She was very spirited; laughed a lot, flirted. I mean, this was a long time ago!’ Seperti gading dilarek: like polished ivory she was, a pretty girl.

  ‘Murad was quite a catch in the kampong. They had money and he would captain his own boat. Mind you, the family was never a friendly one. Murad is just like his father: never happy, never talking. No fun at all. Well, harimau menunjokkan belangnya: the tiger shows his stripes, you know. You can’t avoid blood.’

  He took a sip of coffee and, with that, the flow of homilies paused. It was a good thing, too, or Maryam’s new-found respect for Aziz might well have dissolved.

  ‘I was surprised when she married him. I mean, I know most parents want their daughters to be comfortable; I want it for my own girls. But they knew the family and how miserable they were! And let me tell you …’

  Maryam braced herself for another nugget of wisdom. ‘After a few months of being married to him, you never saw her anymore. She was a like a ghost. If she was out, she was silent, her head down, never talking to anyone. Like the life had been sucked out of her. Now,’ he turned to Mamat, ‘why would I ever let my girl marry into a family like that?’

  Mamat nodded. ‘Never!’ he averred.

  ‘But you invested in his boat,’ Maryam mused.

  He snorted. ‘Business is business, Kakak! That’s not marrying him!’

  She had to agree.

  * * *

  Osman made his familiar way down the aisles of the main market towards Maryam’s stall. Why was he always finding her to ask what happened, and never Maryam volunteering information to him? He pondered that unhappily.

  But it was only another few days before he left for Perak to be married, a thought which cheered him up immeasurably. Now he would pass from the not particularly gentle ministrations of Maryam and Rubiah to the more familiar orders of his own mother. He wouldn’t need to make a single decision about anything while he was home!

  He was unsure of what his married life would be. He vaguely remembered this cousin who would be his bride, but he never knew her. However, his mother’s side of the family definitely ran to strong women, so it was entirely possible that, young and sweet-looking as she was, she had a core of steel on which he could lean. He couldn’t accurately say whether this pleased him or terrified him.

  ‘Ah, it’s you!’ Maryam greeted him from her perch atop her counter. Her immediate neighbour, Rashidah, peered around the divider and smiled. ‘Come to get your kain songket for the wedding now?’

  Osman tried to staunch the current carrying him away from his chosen conversation. ‘Well, I don’t …’

  ‘Of course, he is!’ Rashidah hopped off her own counter to stand in front of Maryam’s. ‘You must be leaving for Perak very soon.’

  ‘Yes, I …’

  ‘Cream!’ Maryam announced, overriding his half-hearted mumbling. ‘I said so before, right, Dah? It’s all the colour right now.’

  Rashidah agreed enthusiastically and helped Maryam open an especially heavy piece of creamy silk, shot through with gold threads that appeared and disappeared in the fabric. Maryam was triumphant. ‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’ Rashidah stroked it appreciatively. ‘Gorgeous.’ They both looked expectantly at Osman.

  ‘Well, I think …’

  ‘I told you,’ Maryam said to Rashidah, smiling broadly. ‘I knew he’d like it. And his wife … well, she’s bound to love it.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘Is the rest of the wedding in cream as well?’

  ‘I don’t really …’

  ‘Yes, why would the groom be involved in that?’ Maryam asked rhetorically. ‘I mean, he’s here, working.’ She turned to Osman as she expertly folded yards of fabric into a rather large bundle. ‘You just tell her,’ she advised him, ‘that you’ve got wonderful songket.’

  ‘Made right here!’ Rashidah interjected.

  ‘Where else? And that it’s cream! She’ll know what else to do, believe me.’ She and Rashidah laughed merrily. They’d seen this before.

  ‘But I wanted …’

  ‘What?’ asked Maryam kindly, handing him a skilfully wrapped package which weighed a lot more than it appeared it would.

  ‘To talk to you,’ he finished lamely. ‘About the case.’

  ‘Ah.’ Maryam regarded him expressionlessly. ‘Go ahead.’

  Now he felt lost. ‘Well, Mak Cik … I mean, what’s happened?’

  Maryam sighed and shook her head. ‘Go up to Rubiah then and ask her to come, and we’ll tell you together. And bring some coffee and onde-onde.’ She watched him leave, and as he passed Rashidah, he knew she watched him too and thought him an ungrateful whelp for bringing this into the presentation of such a fine piece of songket. He felt guilty, but reminded himself, as he trudged up the stairs, that he was the chief of police!

  * * *

  Maryam and Rubiah slowly descended from their trishaw, shielding their eyes from the sun. Though it was low in the sky already, throwing long and slanting shadows, it was still damnably hot. On the sand at Pantai Cinta Berahi, brilliantly painted fishing boats were pulled up along the shore, the crews carefully stowing their equipment while fish wholesalers were wrapping up their stock amid large chunks of ice in stout wooden boxes. They searched anxiously for Rahim.

  ‘Do you think he’s already left?’ Rubiah asked worriedly. ‘Maybe we should have reached here right when the boats came in …’

  Maryam shook her head. ‘And be so conspicuous? How would that look for Rahim?’ She narrowed her eyes and tried to pick him out of a crowd of sunburned young men with batik kerchiefs tied around their heads. It was tough going.

  After their first circumambulation of the boats, one man detached himself from the crowd and presented himself to them – a blessing, for otherwise Maryam was convinced they would never find him, and she wasn’t sure she cared to continue walking on the sand. However, here he was.

  ‘Mak Cik? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Rahim!’ Relief flooded her voice. ‘I’m so glad to see you,’ she told him fervently.

  He was surprised by her intensity. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  She felt she may have been too emotional in her greeting. ‘Nothing, really. But it’s so hot!’

  Rahim grinned at her. ‘No trees.’

  ‘I see, yes.’ Maryam sought to compose herself. ‘Well, it’s only that I had a few questions, no more than that.’

  ‘Well, something to drink first!’ He led them off the sand to a wooden bench under a coconut palm. ‘Wait here.’

  ‘Such a nice boy,’ Rubiah sighed as he walked off to find some cold drinks. ‘Aziz should be pleased to have such a son-in-law.’

  Maryam nodded; it was true. Lovely manners, even after a full day’s hard work, which said a great deal for his character. ‘I don’t see how he could be involved in a murder himself,’ Rubiah stated firmly. ‘He’s not that kind of man.’

  Maryam raised an eyebrow, and fanned herself with the ends of her headcloth. ‘Anyone could be that kind of man.’

  As Rahim returned, carrying three bags of iced tea, she reflected that she didn’t really think he was that kind of man, either. But to admit it meant she wasn’t really looking for the real killer, she would only be looking for someone she didn’t like who might plausibly kill. This was a completely different kind of search, and not one she cared to find herself undertaking. She sighed. It was hard meeting people you liked in the course of an investigation.

  ‘What did you want to ask me?’ Rahim took a long pull on his straw.

  ‘You know Pak Cik Murad pretty well, don’t you?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘You’ve worked for him. You must know him, perhaps better than you think.’

  ‘Listen, Mak Cik,’ he began hesitantly, ‘I don’t really know what to say. You see, he’s a rich m
an around here. He’s made a lot of money. Is he a better captain than all the others?’ He paused. ‘No. He’s good, I mean, he knows what he’s doing, but no captain lasts long if he doesn’t.

  ‘He’s tight-fisted,’ he stated flatly. ‘He hardly spends anything. He won’t even treat his crew to drinks!’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know if you can get rich that way, but he’s certainly tried.’

  Rahim wiped his sunburned face again, and waved another one of his crew over to them. ‘Mat,’ he said simply. Mat nodded and sat on the ground with his back to the trunk of the palm. ‘She wants to know about Murad,’ he explained. ‘How he got rich and what kind of a captain he was.’

  ‘The kind who never spent a cent,’ Mat stated firmly. He lowered his voice and looked hard at Rahim. ‘But they say …’

  The two men carried on a silent conversation as Maryam watched them. It seemed as though they came to a conclusion, and Mat cleared his throat.

  ‘That is, they say, you know …’ he hesitated, and Maryam forbore to encourage him, fearing he would stop altogether. ‘His family has had, well, a pelesit, they say. For a long time.’ He nodded again, and looked around furtively, as though the very mention of a familiar spirit might summon it to appear before him.

  ‘Really?’ Rubiah asked. ‘And that’s how he got rich, through this evil spirit?’

  Rahim answered, his eyes still on Mat. ‘He keeps it in a bottle,’ he added, his voice hardly above a whisper. ‘I’ve seen it on board sometimes. It looks like a grasshopper.’

  ‘He feeds it on his blood,’ Mat murmured. ‘You know, he pricks his finger to feed it. Or his wife does, and it’s robbed her of her mind. And it goes out and brings back money for him. Or makes sure money comes to him,’ he amended.

  Rahim picked up the thread. ‘It’s not just fishing. How do you think they got all the rice land they have?’ Maryam looked interested, but said nothing.

  ‘They got it all during the war, the Japanese time. People were losing their land left, right and centre, families had nothing to eat except what they could catch. But this family collected land. They never suffered when the Japanese were here.’