Shadow Play (13 page)

“
Wayang Siam,”
Rubiah finished for her. “I'm glad, I have to admit. I don't feel like it either.”

“I'll get a taxi,” Mamat rose.

“No!” cried Maryam. “Let the police drive us. I'm not slinking
away like I'm afraid to talk to them anymore.”

“Right!” said Mamat. “I'll get the police here to call them. Get ready to go, then.”

Faouda was not glad to see them again. They tracked her down at a local market doing her family's grocery shopping. Maryam came up quietly behind her as she considered a purchase of papaya, discussing the rising cost of fruit with the seller. She squatted in front of a hillock of fruit, her headscarf casually thrown around her shoulders, her simple brown sarong with its border of white fish hitched up on her calf, showing her dusty rubber flip-flops.

“
Cik
Faouda!” Maryam greeted her happily. “How nice to see you here.”

Faouda swiveled her head quickly, startled to hear her name. Her expression became sulkier when she beheld Maryam and Rubiah standing behind her.

“What are you doing here again?” she asked ungraciously.

“We came to see you.”

“Why?”

“Come, we'll talk when you're finished buying.” Maryam directed a dazzling smile at the papaya seller, who smiled back and tried to speed up the selling process. Faouda rose reluctantly, shoved her fruit into a plastic bag, and started walking away.

“Why are you unhappy to see us?” Maryam asked with great good humour.

“Who says I am?” Faouda flipped her hair. “I'm delighted.”

“Really? That's good. Then why so sulky,
masam muka macam andam tak suka:
as sour-faced as an unwilling bride?”

“I'm not sulking,” Faouda retorted, looking even more put out. “I
just don't know what you're doing here. Do you like Kuala Krai that much?”

“Of course, we do. Now Faouda, where can we sit down and have a nice little chat?”

Faouda stared at her as though she didn't understand what had been said.

“A coffee shop?” Maryam answered for her. “Excellent idea. There are always coffee shops around the market. Aren't you the clever one?”

Looking as though she had just sucked on a lemon, Faouda was led under the awning of a small shed next to the market. They sat at a tiny table and ordered iced coffee with plenty of sweetened condensed milk and some packets of sticky rice. Maryam's mood continued to improve.

“So, tell me Faouda,” she said familiarly, after a long restorative sip. “Who's the man you were with in Kota Bharu?”

Faouda blanched and sat silent.

“Come, talk to me, or else you'll have to talk to the police. It won't be as much fun.”

“It isn't any fun talking to you,
Mak Cik!”

Maryam remained positively jovial. “Well, perhaps you think that now, but just wait till you talk to them. You'll long for me.” Faouda sipped her coffee.

“We've had a hard trip from Kota Bharu, and I want to get back there by tonight. We don't have forever.” Maryam gained in confidence with every word. She believed she was on the verge of a breakthrough.

“He's a friend.”

“A friend?”

Faouda nodded.

“He stayed with you in Kota Bharu?”

She remained stubbornly silent.

“Faouda, I'm asking you a question.” She put on her sternest mother voice. “Did you stay with him?” She nodded unwillingly.

“So you didn't go back to Kuala Krai right away, like you said.”

She looked hard at Maryam and then looked at her lap. “I really need you to answer me,” Maryam prodded her. “No,” she said shortly. “I stayed in Kota Bharu for a few days.”

“Till Monday?”

She nodded.

“With this friend?”

She nodded again.

“Faouda,” Maryam said, leaning back in her chair. “I can't go on this way: I ask a question and you answer with one word or just a nod.” Rubiah nodded her agreement and raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Faouda.

“I'm a lot older than you are,” Maryam continued, “and I just don't have the patience. Are you going to talk, or not? Because if not, I might as well go back right now.” She started to collect her bag and rise.

“OK,” Faouda capitulated. “He's my husband now.”

Maryam was astounded. “What?”

“You heard me. We're married. We got married in Kota Bharu. So it's totally alright that I was staying with him.”

Rubiah nodded. “Yes, it's alright you were staying with him, that's true.” Kelantan had very strict laws about unmarried couples being together unchaperoned at all; staying together was out of the question. “But how, when…”

“I knew him here, before I married Ghani,” Faouda preened, smoothing down her sarong and tossing her head ever so slightly. “We were talking about getting married; teasing really,” she said deprecatingly, “and then I met Ghani.”

“That was fast,” Maryam said as neutrally as possible.

“Sometimes love is fast,” Faouda answered self-righteously. “Anyway, he heard I went up to Kota Bharu to stay with Ghani, and he followed me up there.” Her eyes danced: she clearly thought this terribly romantic.

“He was looking for me in Tawang, and someone there told him I'd gone to Kota Bharu to go home. And he found me at the taxi station! Can you believe it?”

“Amazing. He was your
jodoh:
your fated love. Wonderful.”

Rubiah couldn't tell whether Maryam was being polite or sarcastic. Either way, it didn't look as if Faouda would notice.

“I know!” Faouda said excitedly. “He doesn't have any children either, so we're both starting together. I mean, it's just the two of us!”

“It is great,” Maryam smiled. “Where did you meet him?”

“Oh, around here. You know, Kuala Krai. In town.”

“And you knew him while you were still married to that older guy?”

“It wasn't like that,” Faouda said hotly. “Not at all. I met him then, but nothing happened. We just talked. And then I got divorced and I went back to my parents' house. Well, you know the rest. Before anything could happen, I met Ghani. But he wanted me, my husband, and he came up to look for me.”

“When did you get married?”

“That day!” Faouda said proudly. “That very day! In Kota Bharu.”

“Fabulous,” Maryam enthused. “A real fairy tale. So romantic.” She lit a cigarette. “So you spent a honeymoon in Kota Bharu, did you?”

Faouda smirked, “You could say that.”

“And you came home on Monday morning?”

She nodded, and reached for one of Maryam's cigarettes. “Early in the morning on Monday. He had to get back to work.”

“What does he do again?” Maryam asked guilessly.

“I never told you,” snapped Faouda. “He drives a truck. Lumber.”

“Why are you still living at your mother's house?”

Faouda made a face. “You know how people talk. What would they say if I came back divorced and remarried in the same week? Even you're thinking it, don't deny it. We wanted to keep it quiet, and then announce it in a few weeks.

“He's gone now anyway, driving wood over to Kedah. It takes a while, you know. They drive through Thailand,” she leaned forward, confidentially. “Up through Kelantan through Patani,” she sketched a map in the air with her finger, “and across to Perlis and Kedah. Very rough driving, so it takes a while.” She seemed happy enough to talk now.

“Your mother knows.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“My parents know. His parents know. That's all for now, till we get a place to move into. I'm just waiting. I can be patient.”

“Marvelous.” Maryam smiled at her. “So, you've been divorced and married twice in the past … what? Month, is it?”

Faouda gave her the dirtiest of all possible looks.

“Don't you need to wait three months after a divorce before you're married?”

Faouda rubbed her ankle, not taking her eyes off it.

“Is it even legal if you haven't told the
Khadi
about your marriages? I don't know. What do you think?” she asked Rubiah.

Rubiah shook her head. “Can't be,” she answered shortly. “Why, if she were pregnant now, who'd be the legal father? It's hard to know…”

“It isn't any of your business,” Faouda interrupted, furious. “Just butt out, OK?”

Maryam and Rubiah exchanged skeptical looks. “Tell me, when you were up in Kota Bharu, did you take in any
Wayang Siam?”

Faouda's face went red, or rather, redder. “You think you're tricking me. Well, you aren't. I know what you want. You want to say I killed Ghani. Well, I didn't. So go look somewhere else.”

“I'm just asking if you saw any, that's all.”

“No!” She was now as sulky as she had been at the beginning of the conversation. Maryam sighed. It was too much to be expected to cheer her up twice within an hour. She'd had enough of Faouda for one day.

“OK. You're sure?” She and Rubiah prepared to leave.

“I'm sure,” said Faouda with infinite bad grace. “Have a good trip back.”

Chapter XIII

Dollah volunteered to gather all the musicians at his house for Maryam's convenience. Maryam suspected they'd already coordinated their stories and didn't want to make it even easier for them. She declined his offer, preferring to see each in his own house, his own environment. She and Rubiah slogged through seven different
kampong
, and in six of them heard the same story. They loved Ghani and couldn't imagine how this happened. His wife Aisha was a lovely girl and they didn't know Faouda, but believed her capable of this crime. They weren't sure if they saw Hassan or any of his troupe, but he, too, could easily have done it. And then they kept their mouths firmly shut.

At the seventh
kampong
, where they arrived hot, slightly bedraggled and ready for an argument, luck was with them: they met the one musician who would speak honestly with them. The oldest of the troupe, the one who played the flute-like
serunai
, was a round-faced, affable man, living in a small village not too far from Dollah's. His house was new, made of plywood, and sparsely furnished. His wife was at home cooking, while several grandchildren played under the house, out of the sun.

He invited them in, and showed no signs of the nervousness that plagued all his colleagues. “It's hot out there,” he said genially, “you must be exhausted. Come, sit down,” he motioned to the couch. He
called to a grandchild and gave him some instruction, and then bade his guests relax. His wife excused herself to return to the kitchen.

“Have a cigarette. Have you been to see everyone else?” He laughed. “Oh my, what a day. You must have covered twenty miles!” He laughed again. “What can I do for you ladies?”

“
Pak Cik
Mahmud,” Maryam had checked his name before they reached the house, to guarantee she had it right. “Thank you for seeing us.” By now, it felt as though they had memorized their lines and were going through a meaningless ritual.

“Of course, of course. It's such a terrible shame, poor Ghani. Such a young man, he didn't deserve to be cut off so soon. And with little children left alone!” He shook his head, sadly. “I'd like to see whoever did this be caught, you know. I really regret what happened. I‘m sorry he's gone.” He sat quietly for a moment. “A tragedy,” he whispered.

“I know,” Maryam sympathized. “Did you see anything, Pak Cik, anything at all the night Ghani passed on?”

He nodded as he spoke. “There was a lot going on that night. I don't know why that night more than any other, but there you are. You know Ghani and Arifin, the gong player, they don't get along.” Maryam nodded. “They argue a lot. Arifin's jealous of his wife and thought Ghani tried to get her away from him. A month ago, I would have said it was nonsense, but after Ghani took a second wife, I'd have to think about it again. Well, that doesn't matter. Ghani was teasing Arifin, and Arifin always takes the bait. They finally had some words in the
panggung
, and Dollah told them to shut up.

“Anyway,” he continued as Maryam and Rubiah leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word, “During the break, I went down, you know, and Ghani was at the back of the
panggung
arguing with Aisha's
brother.”

“Was Aisha there?”

“I don't know. I didn't see her, just her brother. But I wasn't really looking around either. I just wanted to take care of my business and get back.”

“Did anyone else see them?”

He thought for a moment. “I don't think so. The coffee stalls were against the other side of the field, so you couldn't see from there. There are usually some little boys hanging around the back of the
panggung
looking in, but not during the break, ‘cause there's nothing going on. I mean,” he said, after brief consideration, “some of the others may have seen it, or heard it, but I don't think the audience would have.”

“Could you hear them?”

“Not really, but I could see them, and given all that happened, I didn't really need to hear them to know what the argument was about. Ali, that's Aisha's brother, was furious at Ghani, and Ghani was arguing back, and before I went up into the
panggung
, Ali had taken a swing at him. Ghani pushed him away and went back up.”

The grandchild returned carrying icy bottles of Green Spot Orange Soda and a small bag of cakes. Mahmud's wife came in with some glasses and plates.

“This is such a treat on a hot day,” Maryam told him gratefully.

He laughed. “Drink, drink, please!” He took a swig himself and then continued his story. “Ghani came up and sat down, he sat next to me, you know. We always keep a few
golok
around in the
panggung
, you need it to cut things and make repairs. Anyway, one was lying around in the middle, on a pile of clothes, and Ghani got up and put it down next to him. ‘Just in case,' he said to me. ‘He's really mad.'