Shadow Play (8 page)

Maryam called out a hello from the bottom of the steps, and a neighbor poked her head out of her window. “
Mak Cik
Maimunah isn't
here,” she offered. “She's at the market down the road. You know: you must have passed it coming in here.”

“Selling vegetables?”

The woman nodded emphatically. “That's her. She's got eggplants today. I saw her leave. Do you know her?”

“Not really,” Maryam answered vaguely. “But thanks! We'll go and look for her.” She smiled, and the woman left the window. “
Alamak
!” Maryam hissed to Rubiah. “That market is a disgrace!”

“Well, it isn't Kota Bharu,” Rubiah sniffed, “they aren't used to what we have.” She nodded complacently. “You can't expect them to keep to the same standards.” They came back upon the ragged little market. Mamat immediately hared off to find a coffee shop: even such a small and deplorable
pasar
would no doubt have accommodations for coffee, since husbands had to wait
somewhere.

Maryam searched for eggplants. Sitting behind a pyramid of them, on a chair made of several folded
sarong
, was a woman Maryam's own age, dressed in plain batik with a matching
baju kurung
, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a cotton turban over her hair, just as Maryam dressed for the market. She was immediately cheered; this was a woman they could talk to. She and Rubiah bent down in front of the vegetables, examining them.

“Kak Maimunah?” Maryam introduced herself “We're here looking for Faouda: do you know her?”

Maimunah's face clouded. “Who are you?” she asked sharply.

“Do you have a moment?” Maryam looked around, reluctant to speak of this in front of everyone else present. “Could we go somewhere and talk, please?”

“About what?”

“Well, Faouda.”

Maimunah rose, and asked the woman next to her to watch the eggplants for a few minutes, and gestured for Maryam and Rubiah to follow her. She walked swiftly and silently back to her house and waved them up the stairs. The three sat on the porch; Maimunah offered neither drinks nor cookies.

“I don't wish to be rude, not at all, but as you see, I am in the midst of work here, and I'm not sure what your business is.” She leaned back against the wall and produced her home-rolled cigarettes from the folds of her
sarong.
She passed them around, and waited expectantly, clearly counting the seconds until she could get back to work.

Maryam respected her businesslike approach: from the turban she wore to the cigarettes she carried, she could have been Maryam herself. Maryam gave the most concise possible explanation of their quest. “… and after the third night,” she finished, “one of the musicians was killed, and I understand he took
Cik
Faouda as a second wife. So we're looking for her, to see what it was about.”

Maimunah nodded. She relented somewhat, and asked, “Would you like something to drink? I'm sorry I didn't ask before.”

“No, no, please,” Rubiah said hurriedly. “We can't keep you from your stall. We work in the market in Kota Bharu ourselves, so we know how it is.”

“Alright,” Maimunah lit her cigarette and passed them the matches. “It isn't a really nice story, though. I've been married about thirty years, maybe?” They nodded: so had they all. “A few months ago, I noticed my husband was acting strange; staying out late, couldn't find him during the day, kept complaining about how tired he was.

“Well, naturally, I suspected something, but I didn't know what to
do exactly. I kept a sharp eye on him, as much as I could, anyway, and then all of a sudden, he comes home one night and tells me he's taken a second wife.” Her guests both gasped with dismay. It was a middle-aged woman's worst nightmare.

“Now, mind you, my husband is in his fifties, and we have children who are already married. He's getting ready to be a grandfather, so what does he need a young girl for? More kids? We already have five, and my eldest daughter is having a baby.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. So, he brings home Faouda. I thought she was a nasty piece of work, but, of course, I would, wouldn't I? He tells me he's rented a small house down the end of the road for her and that I should learn to treat her like a sister.” She snorted. “Right. He was crazy for her for the first three months or so. Like a buffalo led by the nose:
kerbau cucuk hidung.

“It was so hard,” she said calmly. “He gave her almost all the money every week, and I had to make do with what I earn to feed myself and the kids. He just didn't care.” She looked bemused, and Maryam whispered, “I'm sorry.” Maimunah shrugged.

“What can you do? You just have to keep going and hope for the best. And I did just that,
Kak;
I kept my mouth shut and waited. And what do you know? He got tired of her, just as I thought he would. One day, he came back here and started complaining: she didn't know how to save money, she didn't know how to cook, she always wanted to go out to the movies, she wanted to have a baby.

“She was a young girl; of course, she wanted these things! And you're an old goat, I thought, and have no business having a baby who'll be younger than your first grandchild. But I bit my tongue, as
we women often do. I smiled and made him dinner, and he was glad to be back.
Pacat jatoh kelumpur
, like a leech falling back into the mud. He couldn't have been more relieved.

“Two days later, Faouda shows up after dinner and starts yelling at him. The whole
kampong
could hear!
Alamak
! You know, I decided to stay out of it. I had nothing to gain by jumping into the middle.”

“That's true,” Rubiah agreed solemnly.

“You're right,” Maryam chorused.

“So,” Mainumah flicked her cigarette over the side of the porch and lit another immediately. One of the goats came by to investigate. “My husband says to her, ‘I divorce you with three
talak.'
Three
talak
at once. That's great. I'm happy. And he stomps out of the house right then and there to see if there's anyone around to register it. She can't believe it. She's standing there with her mouth open. What happened?”

Maimunah laughed. “A man his age, how's he going to keep up with her? He's exhausted, and besides, does any man like spending that much money? Especially after he's decided he doesn't want what he's bought.” All three laughed at the folly of men and the naïveté of young women.

“She looks at me, like she's going to cry, but there's no sympathy for her here. I told her, ‘Go get your stuff out of the house and go back to your parents. I've had enough of you to last me forever! She pouts for a minute and then I give her a little push to guide her to the door, you know.” She nodded, smiling slightly. “That was it, really. By the next morning, she was gone, and the next week I heard she married a musician from Dollah Baju Hijau's troupe. Fast work, wasn't it?” She shook her head, wonderingly. “Is it even legal?” she asked. “You have to wait before you marry again, don't you?” She shrugged. “Well, it
isn't my problem. Anyway, she went up to see him in Kota Bharu and I heard the first wife wasn't happy to see her. I'm not surprised.

“I heard in the market … you know:
angin bertiup
, the wind blows and you hear things. It's big news around here, you can imagine. Everyone's talking. I heard he divorced her right away and sent her packing back from Kota Bharu in only a few days. I haven't seen her, and I don't think I will. It's fine with me. I'm done with her.”

Maimunah paused. “You might see her parents, if you want to. They might know more than me. Don't know if they'll want to talk though; it isn't very flattering for their daughter, and they're probably hoping for another husband for her.”

“So she's back with them now?”

Maimunah shrugged. “I don't know. I don't care either, as long as she stays away from me. But you could find her mother if you want to: they live on the other side of Kuala Krai, nearer the Kota Bharu road. Kampong Gelap. Just ask when you get there,
Mak Cik
Nah.” Maimunah rose, anxious to get back to work. “If you don't mind …”

“Of course,” Maryam agreed hurriedly, and rose immediately. “You must get back to work. Thank you so much for talking to us.” Maryam and Maimunah clasped both their hands together and Rubiah followed. They walked with her back to the market, where she resumed her spot and dived back into her vegetables.

Chapter VII

They decided to bring Mamat with them. “You never know,” Maryam said firmly, now hot on the scent. “What if we need him? And if we don't, they'll give him some coffee …”

Mamat rolled his eyes. “Is that what I am?
Suruh dia pergi, panggil dia mari?
Order him and he goes, call him and he comes?”

Maryam gave him a suddenly blazing smile. “No, that's not all you are!”

He laughed, and walked self-consciously behind them. “No, don't turn around! I'm just here.
Kerbau cucuk hidung.”

“You know, that's just what the first wife said about her husband and Faouda,” Rubiah twisted her head to look at him. “But you, at least you're being led around by your own wife. I mean your real, proper wife: it's an improvement.”

They approached Faouda's parent's home, set in a more sparsely populated
kampong
than the one they'd just left. Fewer trees, and more dust; the houses were farther apart and scrub plants grew onto the road. Nothing blocked the view of vertical limestone cliffs, dotted with vegetation. To Maryam's eye, it had all of the drawbacks of the rainforest and none of the advantages: no shade, no green, but a feeling both ominous and lonely. Maybe she was just too used to the coast to understand living here in the
ulu
.

It was a smaller house than
Mak Cik
Maimunah's, and its roof was thatched. Maryam judged the inside had two rooms: a front room and maybe a small bedroom. A shed in the back served as a kitchen. Rather than real stairs, it had a ladder leading up to it, and a tiny porch; and on the porch sat two women, their legs hanging over the edge, weaving palm leave mats. The older one looked up inquiringly.

“Hello,
Kak!”
Maryam greeted her effusively. “We are looking for
Cik
Faouda's house.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Maryam. “Who are you?”

“Us?” she asked brightly. “We're here from Kampong Penambang, near Kota Bharu. Is this her house? I mean, is this her parent's house?”

The woman nodded and stood. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

“Well,” Maryam bustled over to the bottom rung of the ladder. “You know the performance where the tragedy occurred? That was at my house. For my son's
sunat.”
She smiled and bridled a bit. Mamat was stunned: he'd never seen her perform like this. Rubiah was not stunned at all. “So, we're helping the police. It's so much easier for people to speak to us,” she gestured at Rubiah. “Two
Mak Cik
, you know,” she smiled a conspiratorial smile at the other woman: they belonged to the same sisterhood.

“We're trying to find out more about this, and of course,
Cik
Faouda.” This was far more polite than she needed to be, since Faouda was a good deal younger than she was, but better to be overly polite than chance an offense. “She married Ghani and we thought it would be best to talk to her. She might know something, or have heard something, isn't that possible,
Kak
?”

The woman stared at her. “You want to talk to Faouda?”

“Yes, I do,” Maryam nodded and smiled.

“That's me.” The younger woman stood up, her face expressionless. “It's alright,
Mak,”
she said to her mother. “I have nothing to hide.” She turned again to Maryam, “You might as well come up,” she said resignedly.

Mamat made his excuses, and disappeared down the road. Maryam felt it most likely they'd find him at the first coffee shop they passed. She and Rubiah sat down on the porch, which was now full with four women sitting on it. Faouda's mother sat in the corner, slowly weaving her palm mat but listening intently.

“I am so sorry,” Maryam began, “It must be terribly hard for you.”

Faouda nodded. “Yes.”

“What a shock.”

“It was.”

“How long were you married to Ghani?”

“Not too long.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“In Kuala Krai. They were performing, and I met him there.”

“When was that? About three weeks ago?”

Faouda shrugged. “Maybe.”

“What happened?”

“Happened?”

“Well, you aren't married to him anymore. What happened?”

“He divorced me.”

“In Tawang?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Faouda,” Maryam was quickly becoming exasperated, “you aren't answering anything. Would you rather not talk to me?”

“No, it's OK.”

“Then please help me understand what happened.”

Faouda shifted uneasily, squinting into the sun. Her cheeks were wide, with a few shallow pockmarks sprinkled along her cheekbones. Her lips were thin and straight, her chin pointed and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. In the morning light, with no makeup, she looked plain, but Maryam could see how makeup would improve her: smoothening her skin, widening her lips and defining her eyes. She'd still have a slightly vulpine look with her small eyes and long nose, but some men liked that. “He divorced me because his first wife wanted him to, and he was too scared not to listen to her.”

Faouda leaned back against the wall of the house and began a litany of complaints about her treatment at Ghani's hands. She hadn't been welcomed, she'd been divorced as soon as she turned up to see him, and (Maryam guessed this was her primary grievance), everyone blamed her for the situation when she felt Ghani was as much, if not more, responsible.