Shadow Play (27 page)

“Lie to him?” Rubiah asked.

“No such thing,” Maryam affected to be offended. “No, just talk to him when he hasn't had time to prepare some flowery explanations.”

She wanted to tug on Osman's sleeve and force him to bring the case to a close. She, too, was deeply worried about Rahman, but there was still Dollah's role in the murder, which couldn't be ignored. “Come on,” she ordered Osman. “Let's go!”

They pulled up to Dollah's home, a small plywood house nestled among fruit trees. It was an idyllic setting: the perfect Malay
kampong
as described in
pantun
and song. Quiet and green, shaded by short banana trees as well as towering coconut palms, the road winding through rice paddies and rubber groves. Maryam admired it as she stepped from the car. It was lovely, but too far from the market for Maryam's taste. Her foray into Ulu Kelantan had forever cured her of believing she wanted to live in a small house surrounded by nature. She wanted to live where it was busy – and not too far from work.

She called from the bottom of the steps, and Dollah's wife came to the door, dragging three toddlers clinging to her
sarong
behind her. She was a pretty girl with a long, thin face and a chipped front tooth and she immediately invited them up. “Don't stay down there with the sun beating on you,
Mak Cik;
come up here where it's cooler.” She smiled, inviting them into the house, away, thankfully, from the burning sunlight.

In one corner of the room was a sofa with matching armchairs, all made of rattan, and a small coffee table. This was clearly for entertaining. The children retreated with their mother to the kitchen below this room. Dollah himself was sitting in the corner, leaning against the wall reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. He rose immediately: “What a surprise! Please come and sit down. We'll have something right away for you.” He guided them over to the sofa and sat down across from them in a chair.

“How are you all?” he gave his widest smile.

Maryam nudged Osman in the ribs, signalling him to speak. “We're here to talk to you,
Pak Cik,”
he began, avoiding small talk and getting right to the point. “We've found Ghani's killer.”

“No! Really?” Dollah put on the appearance of fascination. “Who was it?”

“Don't you already know,
Abang
?” Maryam asked quietly.

Dollah made a face and shrugged his shoulders, signifying complete ignorance.

“Are you sure?” she gently prodded. “He said you saw.” Dollah sat very still, but didn't reply.

Maryam shook her head slightly. “I hoped you'd make it easy for us all, Pak Cik. Well, never mind. He told us you saw him when he killed Ghani. He also said the two of you went back into the
panggung
and pretended not to know what happened in the morning.”

“Who said that?” Dollah tried to laugh. Maryam and Osman sat quietly, watching Dollah, who swallowed hard.

“He did. He's in the hospital you know. Badly hurt.” Osman added. Dollah looked surprised.

“I know, it's shocking, isn't it?” Maryam took over. “But we were
talking with him at the police station, and he suddenly jumped up and bolted out. You should have seen him take off,
Pak Cik
! One of the younger guys chased him down, but Arifin was running so hard he ran straight into a car. And so did the policeman chasing him. Right in the middle of Jalan Temenggong, too.” She sighed. “That young policeman is still in the hospital,” she said severely, “neither dead nor alive. “

Dollah was staring: this was clearly news to him. “I thought you knew,” Maryam informed him. She looked at him keenly, trying to decide whether his surprise was mimed or real. “Arifin's in the hospital now. Broken bones, bruises, cuts,” she waved her hand as if dismissing his injuries. “He can hardly talk. But he did talk,
Abang.
He knew it was the end for him and he talked.”

Dollah's wife came in with tea and cookies. She was clearly alarmed when she looked at his face, but he didn't acknowledge her. They sat in silence waiting for Dollah to say something. He opened and closed his mouth as though getting ready to speak, but no sound came out.

Maryam had never seen Dollah so disconcerted. He was the epitome of self-possession, never at a loss for words, always knowing the right thing to say. He finally cleared his throat.

“Really?” he managed.

Maryam nodded, and waited again.

“Well.” He seemed incapable of continuing, but a look at his audience told him he must. His wife leaned over, but he abruptly waved her away, and she retreated to the kitchen with her children. They all sat on the steps, leaning into the room, listening.

“He told you want happened?” Dollah's voice was hoarse.

“Yes he did, and I believe he told the truth because he's afraid of dying. He's pretty badly hurt.”

“No!” Dollah lit a cigarette to give himself something to do. “My God, what next?”

“What next indeed,
Abang
? Perhaps you would tell us your version of what happened that night.”

“Not much to tell.” Dollah was beginning to recover and attempted to dance around the facts. “Ghani was killed in the middle of the night.”

“By whom?” Maryam prompted.

Dollah looked at her, clearly calculating what exactly Arifin had said. He sputtered, “You already know, so why do you…”

“
Pak Cik
Dollah,” Osman sputtered. “If you won't talk here, we can talk at the station. This has already gone too far.” He looked at Maryam and inclined his head.

Dollah slumped in the chair, putting his head back against the brightly flowered cushion. “I didn't kill Ghani. Why would I? I've known him since he was a child. He was more like my son. But he got himself into a world of trouble with his second marriage. I couldn't believe he did it, and I told him so.

“I think he regretted it as soon as he left Kuala Krai: he was hoping once he got home it would all go away and she'd disappear into the ulu. When she showed up here, he was furious. He loved Aisha, you know. He'd flirt with every woman he met, but he loved Aisha, and I believe until this thing, he never considered marrying anyone else.” Dollah shook his head. “He was more talk than action, really. I don't think he even fooled around. Ghani always wanted everyone to think he was a ladies' man, and had girls all over Kelantan, but I don't think he did. He talked big, that's all.
Memakai kulit harimau:
he wore a tiger's pelt
but he was no tiger.

“Anyway, that night, what a mess. Aisha shows up with Ali, and you've already heard, haven't you, about the huge fight? Ghani took the
golok
and sat with it right next to him. Then that second wife shows up with her new husband. Ghani didn't care. She didn't care either: she just wanted to show him she'd married again. So that's OK, no fights there; I just worried she'd meet Aisha, and I didn't want Aisha to be more upset than she already was.”

He sighed again, this time filled with real regret, and told the story about the confrontation. “Aisha was heartbroken. I felt so bad for her.

“I gave him a good talking to before he came up into the
panggung
again. ‘Haven't you done enough?' I asked him. ‘How can you tell that poor girl you'll divorce her after what you've done?' I smacked him on the top of his head. ‘For God's sake, Ghani! I'm ashamed of you.'

“He looked a little embarrassed, and said he told Aisha they'd talk it over when he got home. He told me he didn't really want a divorce, he just lost his temper when Ali asked him to see a
bomoh
to make sure he stayed faithful. I told him he was wrong to get angry; he should be doing everything he could to make it up to his wife. I think he agreed.

“We were all going to sleep, and Ghani kept teasing Arifin. They always fought like little boys. You know, Ghani would tease Arifin and tell him how much he liked Zurainah, and Arifin always fell for it. Ghani was really relentless that night; I guess he was blowing off steam from his fight with Aisha. I finally told them both to shut up.”

Maryam listened in something close to bewilderment. It was hard for her to consider all this was going on so close to her house, and she was completely unaware of it.

“I heard Ghani go out while it was still dark, and then I heard
someone go out after him. I got up to see what was going on, and when I reached the fence, Ghani was already dead. So quick. Arifin was standing over him, holding the bloody
golok.
It looked black in the darkness,” he remembered dreamily. “It didn't look real.”

“I was completely shocked,
Kak,”
he appealed to Maryam. “I couldn't believe it. Arifin just stood there, staring at Ghani. He took Ghani's towel, and wiped off the
golok
, then stuck it into the ground, up to the hilt. ‘What are you doing?' I asked him. I mean, it's a stupid question, but you can't even think in a situation like that. Your brain is completely frozen. ‘I've done it,' he says to me. ‘I've killed him.' I smacked him right across the face. Idiot! It was unbelievable.”

“And then?” Maryam prompted.

“And then I told him to go back to the
panggung.
I did too, and just lay there thinking about it. What was there for me to do?
Sudah terantok, bharu tengada:
you look up only after you've bumped your head. Ghani, poor thing, was already dead. I didn't want to lose another musician.”

“What?” Osman asked. He couldn't credit what he thought he'd just heard.

“I didn't want to lose another musician,” Dollah repeated. “Well, what could be done for Ghani now?”

“But you knew who killed him. Why couldn't you have told me, instead of making me run around and taking some real chances?” Maryam demanded.

Dollah shrugged again. “I didn't think it would make much difference.” He explained. It was dawning on him that Maryam didn't share his perspective. Neither did the police.

“Not make a difference! What are you talking about? I wouldn't
have nearly died because of the
jampi
under my stairs, I wouldn't have been pushed off Hassan's porch, I wouldn't have gone to Kuala Krai; twice! Aisha might have been saved, I don't know for sure,” she added honestly. “But maybe Arifin and Rahman wouldn't have been hurt. What do you mean, not make a difference? You've almost killed me, saying nothing. And you may still have killed that poor policeman: still a boy, really.”

Dollah sat silent. Finally, he eased out a few words. “What's done is done.”

“Not exactly.” Osman looked uncharacteristically stern. “You've misled the police. You've tried to cover up a crime. You know that's a crime in itself.” Osman was magisterial. “We'll see about this.”

Dollah stared at him, his mouth hanging open.

“And you,
Abang
Dollah, what have you done?” Maryam regained the lead.

“What?” He appeared confused.

“Why were so you anxious to stop me looking? Was it losing another musician?”

“What do you mean,
Kak?”
“You tried to kill me.”

“No, I never did anything like that.”

“You put the
jampi
under my porch.”

“Not me.”

“Who else would do it?” she badgered him. “Why would anyone else do it?”

Dollah narrowed his eyes. “You're wrong,
Kak.
You were right about everything else, but you're wrong about this. I wouldn't do that. I've worked for you! You paid us for the performance! Why
would I want to kill you, or maybe your children?” He shook his head deliberately from side to side. “That's something I would not do.” He glared at Osman, daring him to contradict this statement.

“There's no one else,
Abang,”
Maryam said quietly. “It has to be you, and I'm tired of lies.”

Osman stood up to go. “We've heard enough,
Pak Cik.
You'll be coming with us now.”

Dollah leapt to his feet. “Wait a minute,” he ordered them. They all stood, looking at him. “It was Hassan,” he said desperately, “It was him. I didn't want to say anything because, well, I didn't want to get him in trouble. But he did it. I wouldn't!” He looked from one face to another, begging them to believe him. “I'll go with you to Hassan. We can have it all out there.”

Maryam was not happy about this plan. She'd promised herself never to set foot in Kampong Laut again. She pulled Osman's sleeve lightly. “I don't know,
Che
Osman,” she began, but Osman interrupted her.

“No.” he said firmly, and then repeated that “No”, this time more softly. Osman nodded and rose from his seat. “Come with us now,
Pak Cik.
We'll have to talk at the station.”

Dollah looked around his house. “I don't think…”

“Come now,” Osman said gently, and he took his arm to guide him down the stairs to the waiting car.

Chapter XXXIII

I don't care what you think anymore. You've ruined my life.” Zurainah picked viciously at her thumb, keeping her gaze well away from Maryam. The visiting room at the Kota Bharu's Women's Jail was utterly depressing: its drab and dirty gray walls exuded untold hours of hopelessness, anger and despair.

“I have?” Maryam was amazed. “How did I ruin
your
life?”

“You found Arifin. Now I'll be all alone with my children. Everything was going fine till you had to come snooping around.”

“It's my fault your husband killed Ghani?”

“Why couldn't you just leave it alone? What would have been so terrible if he wasn't found? We'd live here quietly; no one would ever have any trouble from us again.”

“It's nice of you to say,” Maryam offered sarcastically, “but you've both done quite of bit of damage already. Arifin's killed someone, maybe two people, and you've tried to. Doesn't that deserve some punishment?”