Princess Play

by Barbara Ismail

  ‘I think we should speak to Noriah again.’

  ‘You shouldn’t go out,’ Rubiah said flatly.

  ‘What if we got a car? I can call Rahman. I already feel as if I’m running the police department. Osman’s off getting married, and they’ll do whatever I tell them!’

  ‘It’s frightening,’ Rubiah agreed.

  * * *

  Noriah was surprised to see Maryam, Rubiah, Rahman and a junior policeman coming into her yard. Maryam looked much thinner than she remembered her and wore a headscarf wrapped tightly to cover her forehead as well as her hair. She’d heard something about the attack – hadn’t everyone in Kota Bharu? – but didn’t expect to view the results firsthand.

  She greeted them uncertainly: ‘Kakak!’

  The two policemen melted away in search of a coffee stall. Maryam and Rubiah climbed the stairs to the porch slowly, so as not to tire out the patient. The pleasantries began, the food was served. Noriah was particularly solicitous towards Maryam, recognizing she was still weak.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked with concern.

  Maryam shrugged as if to say it was nothing, and apologized for getting right to the point. She feared she would become tired and unable to carry on for too long, and wanted to ensure she asked all her questions in time.

  ‘Kakak, I’ve been thinking about Hamidah, is it? Your brother’s wife.’

  Noriah sniffed in disapproval. ‘She’s a weak woman. Not really worthy of my brother.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve met her?’

  Maryam nodded.

  ‘So you can see, she’s a bit … off. Not really a partner for my brother. Though I really shouldn’t say,’ she began preening, ‘since she’s my daughter’s mother-in-law now.’

  Maryam and Rubiah looked around, and took in the bits of decoration still hanging on the porch from the wedding: tinsel and a small, sparkling model of a palm tree in the corner. ‘You’ve had a wedding here!’ Rubiah cried, trying hard to inject enthusiasm into her voice.

  ‘Yes, my daughter Hayati married her son Kamal. An excellent match. He’s as good a man as his father!’ Maryam thought it a completely ambiguous compliment, but Noriah clearly believed it was high praise indeed. ‘They’ll be very happy together.’

  She now chattered happily, extolling the match and the work ethic of those involved. ‘Of course, Kamal has a lot to do, running his own boat, it’s quite a lot of responsibility. And Yati, she helps here. She works hard, very diligent. I’m proud of her.’

  She beamed at her guests. ‘They’re living here now. Yati, you know, wanted to stay with her family for a while.’ (As opposed to living with Murad, Maryam thought, which would be hell on earth.) ‘But they’ll be saving money …’

  ‘I’m sure they will,’ interjected Rubiah sweetly.

  Noriah gave her a sharp look, as though she suspected this was not uttered in perfect sincerity, but her own enthusiasm soon reasserted itself, and she continued. ‘Yes, it’s all we could have wished for.’

  ‘His parents must miss him,’ Maryam said mildly.

  ‘Oh, he sees his father every day. Talks to him about the boat, you know. And he’s a good boy, he remembers his mother.’

  She leaned forward confidentially. ‘My brother and I made these arrangements, you see. Hamidah, she couldn’t pay attention. Never can. And I thought … well, perhaps I shouldn’t say this.’ Maryam knew she would, anyway,

  ‘I think Hamidah may have had an eye on Aziz’s daughter. Can you imagine? The one who just got married in Sungei Golok? What was that, anyway?’

  Maryam and Rubiah ignored the implication; they might condemn Zaiton at home, but in front of this woman, they closed ranks and refused to even acknowledge it might be out of the ordinary.

  ‘She was interested in Zaiton then?’

  Noriah was deprecating. ‘Who knows? It’s hard to know what she’s thinking, that woman. But no matter, Murad would never allow it.’

  ‘Would Aziz and Jamillah?’

  She pursed her lips and looked hard at them, but apparently decided that no one could be more admiring of Kamal than she was herself, so she must have misunderstood. ‘You’re right.’ Noriah agreed. ‘They were a difficult family, Aziz and Jamillah. But it’s all coming back to them.’

  ‘Coming back?’

  ‘Their daughter. You know.’

  ‘I hear they’re all very happy. The new couple is living with Aziz, to keep him company.’

  ‘And I hear there’s a baby coming.’ Noriah looked smug.

  ‘Well, isn’t that what marriages are for?’ Maryam smiled. ‘I am so sorry, Kakak, but I’m afraid I must go. I still feel a bit weak you know.’ Noriah stood up and began fluttering around Maryam.

  ‘No, don’t worry, I will be fine, and I’m so happy to have seen you! And to be able to wish you the best on the marriage! This is certainly the season for them, isn’t it?’

  They found Rahman lounging at the car, coffee in one hand and curry puffs in the other. He too looked quite content. He managed to hold the cup and curry puffs and open the car door with a flourish, all at once. ‘It looks like you’re mending faster than you thought,’ she told him.

  ‘Did you find out what you wanted?’

  Maryam sighed, thrilled to be able to sit back in the car. She hadn’t realized how quickly she tired nowadays, and with this lethargy came headaches. The mark of the enam sembilan began to throb, and she couldn’t decide whether it was the heat, over-exertion, or Noriah’s conversation. The last seemed most probable, but that may have been caused by the pain, which always put her in a bad mood.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she finally answered, taking care not to be short with him: that was the way she ended up waiting for a main puteri in the first place. ‘Her daughter’s married Murad’s son, and she seems delighted. I wonder if the daughter feels the same.’

  ‘She’s from the family. I don’t know why you’d assume she wouldn’t be just like her mother. Susu didada tak dapat dielakkan: there’s no avoiding mothers’ milk,’ Rubiah pronounced solemnly.

  ‘You don’t even know her,’ Maryam chided her.

  ‘If you know the family, you know the child!’

  ‘Rubiah!’ Then, all of a sudden, Maryam closed her eyes.

  ‘You’re feeling sick again,’ Rubiah announced. ‘Rahman, let’s get home as quickly as you can.’

  Chapter XVIII

  The day of the satay party arrived. Aliza begged to join them. ‘See? My hair’s started to grow in. It would be great for me to go out now!’

  ‘You go out every day, to school. This is for grown-ups.’

  ‘I won’t do anything stupid,’Aliza announced. ‘I just want to go!’

  ‘Take her,’ Mamat told her. ‘She deserves to have some fun.’

  Aliza was beside herself with excitement, and kept dancing around Daud. ‘Do you think they’ll like each other? I hope so. It would be great for Azmi, really. He needs some stability.’

  Daud laughed at her. ‘Stability? Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Mak.’

  ‘Your mother and sister just want to make sure he marries a Kelantan girl. They’re afraid they’ll have to entertain some Johor girl on the holidays and no one will know what she’s talking about. Or worse yet, Azmi will go down to Johor for holidays!’

  ‘You’re right,’Ashikin agreed briskly. ‘We’ve got to guard against it, and we are! How do I look?’

  Daud looked her over. She looked, as always, lovely. She wore a nicely printed batik sarong, and a long, white lawn baju kurung over it. Her long hair was loosely bound at the back of her head, and her large brown eyes were shining.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘You even know you’re beautiful. Where’s Azmi?’

  ‘We’re meeting him there. Hurry up!’

  They entered a popular coffeeshop, which served satay on Thursday and Friday. The satay chef squatted outside the coffeeshop, under the roof covering the sidewalk in the m
anner of the Old West. Before him stood a small charcoal hibachi grill, which he fanned enthusiastically to keep the flames bright.

  The uncooked satay, already seasoned and skewered, was laid out next to him on an oilcloth, in piles of chicken, beef and goat. A small boy at his side was in charge of the condiments: rice cakes, sliced cucumbers and a spicy peanut sauce. The boy arranged the cooked satay on a plate with the side dishes and served them in the shop.

  It was Friday, the start of Kelantan’s weekend, and after the men attended Friday services at the mosque, the shop was packed with families and groups of friends enjoying a satay brunch. Like all the Malay men there, both Daud and Azmi were decked out in traditional Malay clothing, which men wore to Friday services. The outfit consisted of a plaid sarong topped with a long baju Melayu, a Malay shirt, made from light cotton and solid-coloured, high-collared and long-sleeved, but long and loose to keep cool. They looked formal yet comfortable in the heat.

  Ashikin and Daud picked their way through the tables to the air-conditioned room upstairs. It was quieter and more conducive to conversation. Azmi already had a table, and was waiting nervously. Ashikin sat down with him to provide some last minute coaching and a pep talk, while Daud went downstairs to order their meal and look for Rosnah.

  ‘Abang,’ said Azmi’s sister sternly, ‘be talkative and charming. You can be, and now’s the time. See how you feel about her, and let her get to know you. And be polite to her, ask her if she wants something to drink, or coffee.’

  ‘I know how to talk to people, Adik. I’m not sitting here macam itik mendengarkan guntur, like a duck listening to thunder, with no clue what’s going on. I’ll be OK.

  ‘Of course, you will,’ Ashikin soothed him. Let him get his sulk out of the way now, she thought. Then he’ll be fine for Rosnah. ‘I just want to make sure everything’s OK.’

  ‘It is OK. Just stop worrying, alright? I won’t embarrass you.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I’m your abang, you know.’

  Daud came into the room, followed by Rosnah. She was as pretty as Azmi remembered. She had a round, friendly face, with a small snub nose and a dimple high in her cheek. Her complexion was a smooth mocha, and her thick black hair was cut short, in a straight bob with long bangs. Her eyes sparkled as she said hello to Azmi, and without quite realizing it, he smiled as he stood to greet her.

  Not too long into the lunch, Azmi made up his mind. He would marry Rosnah. He would start taking his life seriously. She was pretty, she was nice, and she was funny. He enjoyed being around her. More than that, he would find out after they were married.

  Then too, she knew his sister, and they were friends. That was a big plus; she’d get along with his family, and she lived close by. Yes, the deal was made – at least as far as he was concerned.

  He leaned over to Rosnah, and asked quietly, ‘Ros, you know I’m in the army, don’t you? In Kok Lanas?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, how do you feel about it? I mean, would you want to be with someone in the army, or would you rather settle here? The army moves around quite a lot, you know.’

  She blushed, and looked down at her hands. ‘Azmi, what are you asking me?’

  He laughed, and took her hand. She started at the gesture, but did not remove it. ‘I’m asking you to marry me.’

  Rosnah looked into his eyes. Ashikin looked at them both while Daud tried to be tactful and leave the table for a moment. They needed privacy. He took Ashikin’s hand, but she didn’t respond. ‘Ashikin,’ he hissed, ‘come with me now.’

  She looked at him, surprised. She suddenly realized what was happening and hurried to rise with him and walk away. She grabbed the shoulder of Aliza, whose eyes were round with excitement. Neither Azmi nor Rosnah seemed to notice them.

  ‘Did you see, Kakak?’ Aliza demanded. ‘It worked!’ She began jumping up and down. ‘I knew it would work!’ she exulted. ‘See, Daud, they’re going to get married. Mak will be so happy!’

  And so she would. Later that afternoon, when Azmi asked her, ‘Why don’t you and Ayah go to see Rosnah’s parents? Arrange the wedding,’ Maryam threw her arms around him and beamed. She felt stronger immediately.

  ‘Mamat, listen! Azmi wants to marry Rosnah! Alhamdulillah! I’m so happy’

  Yi, Aliza and Ashikin buzzed with excitement, and Ashikin added just a touch of smugness to her attitude. ‘I told you,’ she said proudly to her mother.

  ‘You were so right,’ Maryam enthused. ‘How clever you were to think of it. Oh my goodness. Well, we’ll have everything now: Anak baik, menantu molek, a good child and a pretty daughter-in-law.’

  Mamat slapped Azmi on the back. ‘This is great. Will you stay in the army?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’Azmi was suddenly serious. ‘Maybe we should open a business here. Maybe, I don’t know, work with Pak Long Malek. I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Well, plenty of time to think about it,’ Mamat assured him. ‘Don’t start worrying yet.’

  Maryam began to plan. ‘Kin, can you and Rosnah arrange a time for us to go over there? Rubiah and Abdullah should come too, don’t you think?’ She turned to Mamat, who agreed. ‘And Ashikin and Daud, Aliza and Yi. What should I wear?’

  This last comment was clearly not directed at Mamat, who had walked outside with Azmi and Yi so the men of the family could share each other’s company. But Maryam and her daughters had to plan their wardrobes.

  Chapter XIX

  I guess everyone’s getting married now: Azmi and Osman, Zaiton and that poor Hayati. I feel so sorry for her! Murad and Noriah together, and Kamal, who we never met. But if Noriah thinks he’s wonderful …’

  ‘You’re worried for no reason,’ Rubiah grumbled. ‘She’s probably never been happier.’

  ‘Why don’t we meet her?’ Maryam suggested firmly. ‘I can’t help but think that family was more to do with this than anyone else.’

  ‘I vote for Murad.’

  Maryam tried to be patient. ‘I know you do. But it can’t just be the person we like least.’

  Rubiah gave her a look which clearly conveyed ‘indeed, it could be’, but said nothing. ‘Let’s meet her then. Why not ask them both to come here? That way you can save your strength, and also not have to see Noriah. In your current weakened state, that could be dangerous.’

  Maryam laughed, a sound heard far more rarely than it was before the attack. ‘You’re right. I’m tired. Bring them here. And maybe …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘More cake.’

  * * *

  Rahman was dispatched to pick up Kamal and Hayati, and brought them to Maryam’s after dinner. Together with two other policeman and Mamat, Maryam and Rubiah sat quietly on the porch, listening to the conversation inside, trying to be discreet so as not to frighten their suspects. Aliza joined them, ever curious, but still frightened. She squeezed herself between her father and Rahman, protected from both sides.

  Rubiah had been correct. Hayati was a younger version of her mother: proud and talkative, radiating self-satisfaction. She entered the house, greeted everyone politely and sat down on the couch, smoothing her sarong with a pleased look.

  Kamal was tall and saturnine, with a serious, even scornful expression. He looked down at the offered coffee cup as though he hadn’t ever seen one before and feared it might wet the carpet.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind us inviting you here. I find, since the attack, I become tired so quickly.’ She sought any reaction at all to the mention of the attack, but found none. Kamal said nothing, but Hayati’s chatter made up for both of them.

  ‘I’ve heard, Mak Cik. Horrible what people will do. I’m shocked! Morals have certainly crumbled, wouldn’t you say? We try to act as we should, to work hard and avoid trouble.

  ‘My husband, you might know, is now the captain of his own boat,’ she said proudly, patting his knee. ‘He works very hard. And if I may say so, his men all admire him, young as he is. They look up to him. Such a young captain; most of them could never have co
ntemplated such responsibility at his age.’

  ‘Did you take over the boat from your father?’ Rubiah asked innocently, trying to remind Hayati that Kamal had hardly saved his own money to buy it.

  ‘He did.’ Hayati looked momentarily puzzled as to why anyone would mention that. ‘And he’s running it well. Discipline. You know, Mak Cik, that’s what the others lack and what we have.’

  Maryam hastened to interject, heading off an outburst by Rubiah. It was unimaginably rude for this young girl to lecture her elders on her husband’s excellence. Rubiah may have been forced to listen to it from Noriah, but it was unlikely she would sit quietly for it from this puffed-up youngster.

  ‘Can you help me with this?’ Maryam asked. ‘The night Mak Cik Jamillah died, poor soul, do you remember where you were?

  ‘Not at the main puteri,’ Hayati sniffed. ‘We don’t really believe in it. My mother always says people should pull themselves together instead of calling on jinn or spirits. You should only depend on yourself. It makes you strong.’

  ‘Does it?’ Maryam asked mildly. ‘I’ll remember that.’

  Hayati clearly didn’t know how to read the danger signs in her audience.

  ‘So we wouldn’t have been here. Not that we’d have any reason to be anyway. Our families don’t get along that well. You know, Pak Cik Aziz had a big fight with my father. You must have heard.’ She smoothed her sarong again, admiring the pattern. Rubiah’s fuse appeared to be growing shorter by the moment.

  ‘What about your mother?’ Maryam asked Kamal.

  He seemed surprised to be spoken to. ‘My mother?’

  ‘Yes, did she get along with Mak Cik Jamillah or not?’

  ‘Well, naturally, she would support my father.’

  ‘Were they ever friends?’

  ‘She knew Pak Cik Aziz growing up.’

  ‘Yes. But I asked about how she got on with Mak Cik Jamillah.’

  ‘Well!’ This was clearly a young man unused to being corrected. His nose rose higher into the air, his lips pursed ever tighter, and his shoulders tensed. Maryam thought he looked ready to punish them all like naughty schoolchildren. ‘They weren’t close, no. My mother keeps to herself. She had no reason to seek out friends like that.’